


codes

by niniadepapa



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Maybe - Freeform, Modern AU, already in a relationship/affair/impossible situation au, how does one tag this i wonder um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3752842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niniadepapa/pseuds/niniadepapa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows he’s looking at her. She can feel it, a prickling sensation at the side of her head, right under her ear, over her pulse point, that patch of skin where he has pressed his lips, sucked and licked and bitten so many times.</p><p>[already in a relationship with someone else and old flame comes back into her life au] [i guess]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She knows he’s looking at her. She can feel it, a prickling sensation at the side of her head, right under her ear, over her pulse point, that patch of skin where he has pressed his lips, sucked and licked and bitten so many times.

She doesn’t look up. It’s difficult as it is already, without knowing that he is there, standing feet away from her and just ruining her by simply looking her way with an intensity that could burn down bridges.

She keeps working on whatever it is she is doing - paperwork? Checking the security cameras footage she had been going over earlier on their half useless computer? She could barely remember - and ignores the sixth sense she has developed that informs her exactly of where he is. It dings loudly in her head as he approaches her with measured steps, his boots echoing loudly on the sheriff station’s polished floors as he comes to stand behind her and look over her shoulder at what she is doing.

(Too close, he is too damn close...)

He makes a low sound at the back of his throat. “The cameras from the hospital?”

“Yeah. Leroy sent them over, but nothing for now,” she claims, intent on not turning to see the way he’s looking at her.

(She knows how he looks at her - heat, conflict, giddiness and guilt, all wrapped up in the swirling blue of his eyes.)

He bites his lip consideringly. “Hm. Something better show up, this must be boring as hell.”

“I’m okay.”

He cocks an eyebrow as he looks down at her, and she curses for the hundredth time the moment David decided it’d be a good idea to offer the job to him of all people. She couldn’t really deny the fact that he was good at it - they had gotten their high school diplomas, attended numerous courses relevant to the field and completed the academy training program together, after all. She still remembered nights spent side by side lying on the grass, staring up at the sky and sharing dreams of becoming the heroes protecting their people, the good guys, saving the innocent and solving crimes.

She also remembered the soft, languid kisses and not so innocent wandering hands, but that was besides the point. It had been so long ago, a whole lifetime, really; a half-remembered dream that real life and circumstances had blurred until it became just that: a memory. A fond one, yes, but that was it.

At least, until he had come back from his life in New York to Storybrooke after David’s phone call, at the ripe age of 34, with a gold band around his finger.

There’s a bang and she startles, raising her gaze to find her father cursing under his breath in his office, putting away papers and empty cartons from Granny’s as he frantically searches for something. She sighs and looks down at her hands, still over the keyboard waiting for the damn files to buffer. Killian huffs an amused laugh and sits at her desk, his hand gripping the edge close enough to touch her arm.

She tries not to think too much about how, if she wanted to, she could reach out and do it.

In another time it wouldn’t have matter, but they’re past that point already.

“You have something on your face,” he says, and she stops breathing. Her eyes lock on his on her own accord, taking in the curve of his lips. It would be easy to chalk it down to lust, but she sees the soft way in which he maps her every feature, the longing in his gaze.

She knows she shouldn’t indulge him. She should roll her eyes, huff dramatically, tell him to piss off.

She doesn’t.

Taking her time, her left hand crawls up until it reaches her cheek and pauses there. “Where? Here?”

Her voice is breathy and soft, and his isn’ any better. “Lower.”

Her fingers trace the apple of her cheek until the pad of her index touches the corner of her mouth. “Here?”

“To the left.” She hides a grin but technically obeys, and he makes a choked sound, half a laugh and half a growl. “My left, Swan.” Her fingers brush the skin of her lips until they stay right between them, and she freezes them there, willing her eyes not to wander away from his. He smiles, even if it looks pained, and he nods, once, and she licks her lips - to keep up the charade or because she needs to see the intake of breath he takes as she does, she is not sure. “There’s a good girl,” he finally murmurs, and her cheeks burn under his stare. Her phone rings then, and she’s shaken out of the limbo that she and Killian usually share, and she sees him from the corner of her eye as she reads Henry’s text inviting her to have dinner with him and Graham.

She stands up on slightly shaking legs and steadies herself on her chair, her free hand putting her phone away in her back pocket. “I - I should go. They’re waiting for me,” she explains, carefully avoiding his face.

“Aye. I’ll see you tomorrow, Swan.”

He doesn’t say the obvious - that he’s expected at his place, his beautiful place right by his beloved beach, where he spends the time he’s not at the station or at whenever duty brings them with his wife and kid. And it is so damn confusing - to be happy for him, for the pie that Milah surely has made for him and Bae, for how happy and lovely his family is; and at the same time hurting for it, and feeling the guilt creeping up her veins until it covers her like a second skin that she wears with shame and bitterness.

She bites down on all these things she won’t say, and opts for a soft, “Yeah, tomorrow.”

She’s almost out of the door when he calls for her. “It’s cold out there, so grab your jacket, yeah?”

She can’t help it - she looks at him, briefly, just to check that yeah, it hurts him too. Their gazes lock, and without looking away, she traces her steps back until she picks up her jacket. Hurriedly putting it on, she tosses a murmured farewell and walks past him, waving her father in her wake and trying to slow the beating of her heart.

And not to drown in memories.

 

* * *

 

_“Stop staring.”_

_The smile in his voice is obvious. “I’m not staring.”_

_“You are.” She glances up at him from under her lashes, taking in the way his lips curl. The arm draped around her shoulders rubs softly the naked skin of her back, lazily stroking locks of hair away. “Well, stop being so damn beautiful and then I’ll stop,” he deadpans, and she sighs, trying to pull back from him to glare down at his face. She doesn’t get very far: his other hand flies to her waist, keeping her pressed to him, breasts crushing to his chest in the most pleasant way._

_She gives up trying to fight him, choosing to close her eyes and softly rub her nose with his in wandering back and forth motions, like a tide that pulls forth and back and brings her back to him one time and again.“We can’t keep doing this.”_

_“I know.” His fingers tangle in her hair, and she almost whines. Her own hand creeps up from his naked chest until it lays over the place where his heart beats, its echo vibrating from under his skin. Her fingers tap along with its steady rhythm, and she feels his own on her hip marking the same tempo, and she could swear if she were to check her own pulse it’d beat along with his._

_It is as soul-crushing as it is beautiful, how intertwined they can be._

_“But I don’t want to.” Her voice is small, almost drowned by the sound of their breathing and heartbeat._

_His hands bring her closer to his, if  it were possible. His nose pokes her eye, her knee bumps his thigh, but nothing matters - not when they can feel time slipping away, the hours, minutes and seconds of their accorded last night together ticking by. “Me neither.”_

_“But this has to end.”_

_“I agree.”_

_Her hand slips down her body and seeks out his, lacing their fingers together and shakes it impatiently, making a frustrated sound. “Killian, I’m trying here.”_

_“I am too, but I don’t want to spend this night lamenting it.” She pauses, afraid to pull an inch back to be able to properly see his face up this close._

_Even if they have come to terms that this - this rekindling, this whatever it is that they have been physically and emotionally unable to stop from happening since he came back - has to stop, she’s pretty sure it still hasn’t hit her yet. Maybe because she’s still in the circle of his arms, or because he keeps grinning at her and giving her that look that says ‘As you wish’ to whatever it is she says. Maybe because it hurts too much to think about, to accept. It hurts like a bitch._

_“I don’t want you to forget that I love you, no matter what,” he says. He grips her hand harder, fingers almost crushing and she inhales sharply, searching his gaze._

_“Killian…”_

_“I’ll tell you, everyday.”_

_It is in the way he says it - so… blasé, so matter-of-factly, that makes her gape at him in complete disbelief. “Really? Then what’s the point in stopping this if you’re gonna go around telling me how much you love me?”_

_She is afraid she is close to tears - again - because this is the last thing she wants. She knows she’s gonna go through so much crap after this night, and the only person she’d be willing to talk about it with is the only person she won’t be able to. The person lying next to her._

_Fingers cup her chin until she’s eye-to-eye with him, and she sees his earnest expression and admits that yeah, it is gonna hurt like a motherfucker alright. “It will be a secret. Our secret.”_

_She fights an eyeroll. “We have too many secrets already. Someday they’ll all blow up and everybody will get hurt.”_

_(Henry. Graham. Milah. Bae. Her parents. Their friends.) (So many people, God.)_

_“Not like that. It’ll be a code, just for me and you.”_

_She gives him an unimpressed look, even if her hands can’t stop wandering around him, feeling the need to touch, to mark, to taste for one last time. “Are you seriously a cop? You can’t just leave evidence around.”_

_He masks a laugh with a cough, and his attention is suddenly caught by something by her mouth. His fingers sweep over her skin and his face hovers over hers in rapt attention. “Is that a freckle?”_

_She tries slapping his hand away. “Stop changing the subject.”_

_“I had never noticed it.” The wonder in his voice makes her forget that she’s supposed to be exasperated with him for ignoring her question, and then the idiot goes and kisses the freckle like it were something unique and precious and God._

_“Killian.” It comes out as a plea, and he ignores her, his lips dropping to the left side of her jaw._

_“Here, you have another one right here.” He repeats the process, kissing it with such care and devotion she doesn’t know how to respond._

_“Killian, please.”_

_He keeps kissing all over the skin of her neck and chest, her closed eyelids and the tip of her nose, the juncture of her neck. “Pay attention, Swan. I’m teaching you our code.”_

_She frowns. “How, by telling me I have something in my face?”_

_He pulls back and nods, grinning, looking so pleased with himself it makes her want to laugh. “It’ll mean I want to kiss you. Badly.”_

_Her amusement is brief, and her face falls. Her eyes follow the path her hands had taken earlier, committing to memory every detail she can from him - the scar on his cheek, the way his lips purse when he’s worried, the feel of his hair between her fingers._

_“That’s not fair,” she finally whispers. He caresses her back, and she isn’t sure if it’s her or his hand is trembling the slightest bit as it brushes against her naked skin._

_“How so?”_

_She gulps down the tears that threaten to fall at some point.“I don’t know. Just… it isn’t fair.”_

_(Because it isn’t.) (Because he doesn’t have freckles that she can use as an excuse for herself, to assure him that she will want to kiss him everyday, even if she doesn’t.) (Because she knows it is for the best but it is also for the worst.) (Because life itself is a joke and unfair and she is tired of it playing with her heart.)_

_She doesn’t realize she is shivering until he points out “You’re cold.”_

_“There was a draft.”_

_He chuckles. “We’re in Storybrooke, Maine, there’s always a draft.”_

_“Don’t change the subject.”_

_She squeals when his arms come around her and bring her to lie over him. She steadies herself as best as she can, and looks down at him, ready to admonish him but incapable of it at the look on his face. “Second part of our code. ‘I’m cold’ will mean I love you.”_

_Her heart constricts inside her chest, and she exhales. She crosses her arms over his chest and rests her chin over them.“That makes no sense.”_

_“It does.” He looks awfully sure of himself, and she cocks a challenging eyebrow at him._

_“How so?”_

_He shrugs. “Because it is always cold here.”_

_Her eyes fall shut, because he is ridiculous - ridiculously sweet and says the most ridiculously sweet things“And what if it turns out next summer is really sunny and hot?”_

_The corner of his lips curl up and he gives her that dazzling grin, the one that’s reserved just for her, or so she tells herself, the one she’ll treasure after tonight. “I’ll have to fake illness and insist I’m cold. Or that the AC is broken and the station is freezing.” His fingers tighten at the base of her spine, and she cocks her head to the side questioningly. His eyes shine in the dim light of the room. “Anything to make you remember that no matter what, I will always love you.”_

_They stay silent for a while, just drinking in the peace and quiet of this moment, and Emma wishes she could freeze it, keep it hidden into one of those snowglobes sold in every souvenir shop with twinkling tiny pieces of glitter to be able to take it out and perfectly recall that feeling of closeness with somebody._

_“Killian.”_

_His hand is playing with her hair. “What?”_

_There’s nothing to stop the tear that runs free down her cheek now, and she doesn’t even try to. She just gives him a tremulous smile. “I’m cold.”_

_He wipes the wetness away with his finger and her eyes close against her wishes because she just can’t stand the way he’s looking at her at that moment. “I am too. Completely frozen,” she hears him say._

_She lets out a throaty laugh, because of course he does - of course he loves her - and with a resolute nod to herself, she bends back until she’s straddling his hips. She leans down tantalizingly slowly, noticing how his Adam’s apple bobs until she’s there to bite it and then soothe it with her tongue. She continues her path up until their lips brush. “Then let’s warm you up.”_

 

 


	2. ghost town

Emma Swan didn’t believe in ghosts.

Not that that was her first predicament that morning - the only off one she had that week, mind you. Instead of lazing around in bed and spending it in her pajamas stuffing herself with cereal or muffins, she had gotten a call from her boyfriend to help him out. Since Graham had started working full hours at the animal shelter once the owner had left town, things had been a little bit hectic. Emma didn’t really mind, but then again, getting a frantic call at nine in the morning for her to please help him find a missing dog that had escaped earlier and wandering around town wasn’t exactly what she had expected for her off day.

At least she had managed to convince Ruby to help for a while, until she ditched her once she got a booty call from Vic. After blowing her a kiss and promising to share the deets with her later, her friend had driven away - too enthusiastically in Emma’s opinion, but then, who was she to judge her friend’s trysts in on-call rooms at the hospital - leaving her alone once more. She sighed and kept knocking from door to door, asking every owner and pedestrians about the missing dog.

She had almost given up hope when roughly at midday she spotted him. She tip toed until she was behind him, and with a breathless sound of relief she clasped the leash on its collar. “Gotcha.” The poor thing whined, rubbing its head against her legs. She petted him softly, bending her knees until she was eye to eye with him. “Come on, buddy, don’t be that way.”

“Is that how you pick dates up now, Swan? I’d have thought you’d honed your skills after so long.”

Emma Swan didn’t believe in ghosts, but this most certainly was the closest encounter with one she had ever had.

Frozen and still bent at the knee, she slowly craned her neck to stare up at the one face she had never managed to forget. “Killian?” she gasped softly.

She hadn’t realized she had been standing up until his face was indescribably close to hers and she could count the wrinkles at the edge of his eyes as he grinned down at her. “It’s been too long.” The leash almost fell from her hand as he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her fiercely to him. Her hands automatically went to the back of his head, tangling in his hair and pulling him back to her, and for one mad moment she swore she didn’t know what year it was, where they were or what was going on around them.

Ghosts indeed.

“It’s good to see you, Emma,” he murmured against her hair, and she shivered, pulling away from his chest to study him.

Her voice caught. “You too.” Taking in the leather jacket, vest and skinny jeans, she couldn’t help but let out a breathless laugh, passing a hand through her hair. “What are you  _doing_  here?”

His cheeks tinted pink as his finger rubbed the spot behind his ear nervously. “Yeah, about that… Dave didn’t tell you did he?”

“Tell me what?” She frowned, trying to recall anything her dad might have said. She knew she hadn’t heard anything remotely close to Killian, especially if it had had anything to do with him being  _here_ , in Storybrooke of all places, that was for sure. The only conversation she seemed to remember having with her dad lately was about the deputy position they needed filling in the station with Graham gone, and…

She gasped.

“You.  _You_  are the surprise?”

He smiled embarrassedly. “Aye. Surprise!” He half-heartedly spread his arms, waggling his fingers comically, and she’d have let it go if it hadn’t been for the glint that caught her eye coming from his left hand.

For a moment, she stopped breathing, and she wouldn’t be able to say if it was for the fact that she has just discovered he was moving back to Storybrooke and working as her partner, or that he was married.

Killian frowned at her lack of reaction, and followed her gaze until he realized what she was gaping at. Almost unconsciously, he hid the ringed hand behind his head, scratching the back of his neck. “I have to say, I had expected another reaction.”

“Yeah… too many surprises, I’m afraid.” She made a face, trying to mask the unease that had quickly overcome her. She needn’t have tried: Killian could practically read whatever emotion she tried to trap down inside of her, as easily as if it were written on her face.

Clearing his throat, his eyes left hers and went to the ground. “A lot has happened since we saw each other last.”

She snorted softly. “You could say that.”

“We really didn’t keep in touch, did we?”

She thought of the times she had stared at his number on her phone, of Christmas cards unsent and vague emails exchanged once every couple of years with the minimal information shared. The days after they broke up and how she had cried on Ruby’s shoulder, or how she usually steered the conversation away from him whenever their old group of friends brought him up.

Of how the pain had gotten easier until it was the echo of a wound - one that she was afraid would never properly heal.

(A wound that she was beyond terrified would open now that he was back.)

“I guess it was too hard,” she finally said. He made a noise at the back of his throat.

“I regret that.”

Sighing, the corner of her lips tipped in a sad smile that mirrored his. “Yeah, me too.”

And then, as clichés went, as they gazed into each other’s eyes and they lost themselves in them and memories and whatnot, they  _had_  it. 

A moment. Or something.

A bang made them both jump, and the dog -  _God_ , she had almost forgotten about him, the poor thing had gotten bored after she and Killian started talking and had been lying on the ground as if nothing bothered him - barked enthusiastically when Graham jumped out of the truck. “You found him!”

Emma grinned despite herself, even if it was somewhat forced as she noticed Killian’s eyes boring into the side of her head. “I did. Doubting me?”

“Never.” Graham chuckled, approaching her and taking the leash from her hands. His head bent down and brushed his lips against hers sweetly, and she felt herself flush. He pulled back, grinning like the fool he was, and seemed to realize they were not alone. “Oh, hi.”

Killian perked at that, smiling graciously and offering his hand. “Hey. Killian Jones.”

“Oh, the new deputy. The prodigal son, as David said,” Graham added, clapping Killian on the shoulder. Emma looked at him, offended.

“You knew about this?”

(She ignored Killian’s affronted look.)

Graham held up his hands, the leash tightening and making the found dog bark again. “He told me to keep it a secret. Henry knew about it too - wanted to use it as an excuse to throw a party at the station and skip school.”

Killian’s eyebrow flew up his hairline. “Who’s Henry?”

Emma met his eyes. “My son.”

He widened his eyes, a gasp almost unheard as he stared at her and then made a vague motion with his hand in understanding. Graham observed the exchange with an amused tilt of his head, and finally, shaking his head, he whistled. “You two seem to have a lot of catching up to do. I need to get this one back, though, so I’ll leave you guys to it.” He bent to pick the dog up in his arms, murmuring soft cooing noises as the pup complained. He left a quick kiss on Emma’s forehead, and was about to leave when the dog paw’s flew and landed on Emma’s arm, whining louder. She pouted and rubbed her nose to its muzzle, giggling under her breath. She mimicked Graham’s soft smile and with another parting kiss she waved them goodbye as they finally left in his truck.

“He the dad?” She turned to find Killian studying her intently, and she belatedly realized he was eyeing her hand in search of a ring.

Of all the things she had expected of her morning off, explaining to the ex love of her life about her current relationship and how no, they weren’t married, and no, they didn’t have any plans to, and yes, she had a kid, and yes, they were happy; hadn’t exactly been one of them.

“Graham? No, no he’s not. He’s the step dad.”

“Right.” He shuffled his feet, another nervous habit of his she took note of with a nostalgic pang of recognition. “Your Graham seems to be very right, Swan: we do seem to have a lot to catch up.”

“I guess we do.”

He stuffed his hands inside his pockets, leaning conspiratorially towards her and lowering his voice. “Could I interest you on a drink so we can exchange what’s been of our lives for these past twelve years?”

She couldn’t help it - she laughed out loud and lightly punched his arm. “It’s one in the afternoon, Jones. A little early for a drink, don’t you think?”

He shrugged, a glint in his eye as he stared fondly back at her. “You never complained about it.”

Her cheeks burned, memories of morning classes skipped in favor of trying new bars in town or whatever adventure they came up with flashing through her head. “Yeah, but things aren’t the same.”

He shrugged. “So they say, yet you’re still as beautiful as I remember.”

The thrill of those words coming from him didn’t help to calm her racing heart. She tried not to look too obviously pleased, rolling her eyes at him. “Charmer.”

He spread his arms out, grinning madly. “See? Haven’t really changed.”

The thing was… he was  _right_. He hadn’t really changed. The new lines on his face, the different clothes and hairstyle, she could see but, in the end, it was  _her_  Killian in front of her. Her Killian, with his silly jokes, adorable ticks and the eyes that he made only for her.

(Or so she had thought, she mused as she critically looked back at his hand.)

And yet, no matter if they were or not the same so many years later… things around them had changed.

Shaking her head, she stood straighter and smiled. “Thanks for the offer, but don’t worry, we’ll have time to catch up at the station.” Before she could runaway from there and hide behind her door and think about what her life had just become, she paused, emotion clogging her tone. “I’m really happy you’re back, Killian.”

His lips curled, voice as soft as hers. “Me too.”

She nodded, stepping back from him and making her way towards the loft she shared with Graham and Henry. “See you tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he assured her with a last grin, walking away from her.

Emma Swan didn’t believe in ghosts, and yet she was afraid that, with Killian in town, she could become one along with him.


End file.
